in the future
there'll be an app
to tell when you're
lying, so i
won't have to guess
you're lying just
because your lips moved

my clear cookie jar
filled with cutout men,
my chocolate friends,
moons and stars

Land lines, phonographs, telex and hat racks,
Pagers and zip drives, typewriters, ****-
Cassettes and telegraphs, tape reels and 8-tracks,
Floppies and slide shows, mainframes that sang.

Boom boxes, slide rulers, portable TVs,
PDAs, Walkmans, the reel-to-reel spin,
Laserdiscs, cartridges, glowing CRTs-
All relics, all memories, fading within.

Yet in this museum of things left behind,
You stand beside me, astonishingly, real.
The world keeps on changing, erasing its kind,
But you, love, remain-what I touch, what I feel.

father woke me at 5 o'clock  
with donuts and chocolate milk.
later, we packed out to the dock
with rods and reels and all our fishing ilk.

with hooks and every fish delight:
worms,  flies, spoons, minnows and crankbaits,
we were well prepared for their fight,
but the hardest part is having to wait.

you should know i put on my own worms
though i can't pretend it's not gross
it is not that i'm afraid of germs
it is that i hate slimy things the most.

i waved my feet over pier's edge,
appreciative of the world's flow,
but please hear my sincerest pledge,
if we caught fish, i probably wouldn't go.

In memories, I fondly recall  
those vibrant chlorine days  
of wrinkled hands  
and laughter with friends  
under the warm summer rays.

There, we became pirates,  
jousting with pool noodles,  
we walked the plank,  
played shark in the tank,  
and dove for hidden jewels.

We created whirlpools,  
held submarine races,  
we belly flopped,  
caught the "croc,"  
with joy on our faces.

how should one measure pain?

in magnitude, as despair, dejection, affliction,
in breadth, as suffering, torment, sorrow,
in extent, as hunger, cold, want,
in frequency, as heartaches,
in degree, as a burn,
in duration, as a candle melts or in clock ticks,
in amount, as in platefuls of food or too much advice,
or in capacity of living?

i have a new job it seems.
it's at a funeral parlor.
it's not the job of my dreams,
but it will do for a starter.

i write poetry to keep myself awake,
and i need the job quite badly,
so i can't afford, sadly, the same mistake

it was last month i lost my gig
for drinking on the job,
but the jury was probably rigged,
'cause it's not like i'm a slob

it's drinking that makes me happy.
it's not like i take hard drugs.
though it may appear quite sappy
i'm not like those other lugs

the job is pretty simple:
each hour i walk around.
i check the locks, i punch a clock;
i don't even walk the grounds.

is there really need for my job?
it's not like the dead will walk
or there's anything to rob
'cause there's nothing here in stock.

the lights just flickered right now.
a thunder storm is approaching,
but there's not a cloud, i avow,
so is subject worth broaching?

today is tuesday; i return
from making my rounds and found
something strange. there were lights burning
when there's no one else around

it's later; lights were on again.
i'm starting to think i'm crazy,
'cause the doors are locked, but then
i know i can be quite lazy

later, there's casket in that room,
which was not in there before.
i do not want to portend gloom,
so i quickly closed the door

but i find that sight quite haunting
and i am more than a bit scared.
what is that lone casket wanting?
are my faculties impaired?